Unravel
by Carenina
Summary: Jen experiences terror. Gibbs might help her, if she lets him. But overcoming fear is sometimes much harder to do.
1. Chapter 1

Hello:) I'm sorry that i didn't upload anything for a long time. I had many things going on in my life and I just didn't have anytime for "fictional" things. But finally I made it! You can see this as an easter surprise or whatever. The story continues in the middle of this chapter, and the new chapter indeed, is NEW, and will be updated (hopefully) some time soon.(Yes I still struggle to use the fanfiction editor...;))

Thanks a LOT to elflordsmistress, who betaed the first part of the chapter!!!

and of course thanks to all people who reviewed and wrote me messages:)

Happy Easter!

Well, here it goes=)

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any characters portrayed in this story. **

**This story deals with rape. If you're sensitive, don't read it. Since this is such an difficult topic and has been used as a plot device to bring two characters together. I don't agree with these stories.I think rape affects a womans life immensely and I want to show how it affects all kinds of relationships.** **I was quite unsure whether I should upload this story, but in the end I decided to, but if there will be a time, when I feel like this is not going in the right direction, it'll leave the same day. **

**In my story, Paris never happened. Jen never died.**

**Btw: I'm not speaking English as a native language so there might be a few grammar and spelling mistakes.**

She wrapped the towel closer around her body. Her reflection in the mirror was foggy. Her face looked contorted and her collarbones stuck out of her body like dead wood covered in skin. She felt uncomfortable; as though her skin coated her carcass like old canvas. Nothing seemed to fit. Yet her face showed an exorbitant amount of sincerity. Her mind ran; coming up with solutions while she continued to dry her body. She put on her bra. Fingers slowly caressing the skin that had never belonged less to her as she buttoned up the blue blouse. She watched her reflection change slowly. When she zipped up the skirt and blow-dryed her hair, the transformation was almost over.

She remembered yesterday - when she'd walked out of her office and silently watched the people working on the ground floor. She'd been feeling much like Juliet during the balcony scene when she'd caught a look from Gibbs, who had noticed her watching. She'd answered his eyes, waiting for a comment from his side, but instead he'd just eyed her reaction and gone back to work. She'd felt like a lion. A redhead version of Joan of Arc. Somehow she knew she had made it. She was in the position she'd always dreamed of. But still, nothing was really going the way it was supposed to. As she'd stood there using the hand-rail like a railing from the Titanic movie, she'd identified with the leading character; the will to die was what they both shared. She was not sad. Neither bitter nor depressed. Maybe a little anxious. She did not regret anything she'd ever done. She just wondered if she would be a mother if she hadn't decided to join the NCIS. She wondered if her life wouldn't have turned upside down if she hadn't walked that way in the middle of the night.

She'd paid close attentions to her movements as she walked back to her office; desperately wanting to appear like a conqueror, not like a small-framed woman. She'd wanted to emit light she didn't have. She'd smiled at Cynthia, and closed her door.

* * *

When she arrived at headquarters her face was layered with Make-Up. Gibbs was at his desk, with McGee right beside him. She didn't see DiNozzo, and Ziva was also missing. She knew the men down here judged the depth of her décolleté. She felt uptight this morning, and weary. Seeing the crinkles around her eyes in the morning had made her realize she was getting old.

"Good morning, Director!"

Gibbs took a sip from his coffee and chewed something that looked dangerously like something you could get at starbucks. McGee smiled nervously at her, and she measured him with her looks and smiled back.

"Good morning."

Her anxiety peaked when she read the news on the screen. She was close to shivering and a shadowy memory was making its way through her brain; threatening to explode into an intense flashback.

Gibbs offered her another cup of coffee while silently monitoring her. In a weird way her power and her formal clothes aroused him. He liked strong women because he always wondered how they'd be in bed. And at times there was nothing hotter than thinking about how they'd use their strength. He bet she liked to be in control. His erection pressed unpleasantly against the jeans. No. Usually he never let himself slip into day dreams, but there was something about the way she'd walked in today. There was some anger and resignation in the mix. Gibbs put aside a notebook and closed his eyes for a moment; trying to think of something less arousing than Jenny Shepard in bed.

When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see her expression. She seemed afraid of something, and suddenly hurried upstairs. He froze and almost spilled some coffee right over his keyboard. Still shocked by her sudden exit he started to read the file he found on his desk that day, but he just couldn't get his mind of her. Not even while reading the most disgusting description of a stab wound ever.

* * *

Meanwhile, she sat on the floor, still shaking. Trying to ward off the hurtful images that crossing her mind. The window was halfway open, an invitation to an easy way out. The sun shone so brightly into her room, flooding it with light, that it was almost painful. Her room reflected the light coldly, and she'd had a hard time here in the beginning. But she'd never allowed anything private into these rooms. No pictures. Just naked walls and an empty desk. It looked like a work space, a place you would leave as soon as possible, and nothing to suggest that she often stayed here in the nights working and fighting of the sleep that tiptoed in her mind when the caffeine started to fade. You could not find a single piece of Jennifer Shepard's life in between these walls. Usually it helped to get her mind off the troubles she faced. Off the loneliness such a demanding job carried with it. She never allowed herself to sit on the floor, because it looked like she had given up and fallen down in the first place she found that offered tiny security.

She started to mutter to herself that nothing had happened and that she was alright. She tried to comfort herself, be the broken and the mender at the same time. There was nobody she could have invited into her room to tell her story. In her mind there was nobody she would ever allow to see her weak side, the shivering and fearful page of the same book. She felt claw-finger strangled, and the bitter feeling of not being strong enough made her feel sick.

Her body told her she was about to vomit.

The thought of body fluids in the office, _the nice office_ she added in thoughts, forbade her to even allow herself with these thoughts anymore. She did her best to shake them of and tried to revive the Joan of Ars figure she had been yesterday. She stood up, walked to the window, and looked outside; watching the trees being tossed by the wind on this dark gray morning where the ceiling seemed to come down every minute.

People hurried across the street with their shoulders pulled up. Covered in thick jackets. No one wanted to stop anywhere or to look up at the windows. When she'd first realized no one ever looked up it had calmed her. She'd felt untouchable behind the bulletproof glass. But soon she noticed the feelings wouldn't stop. They even became much stronger than she thought she could bear. It was on dark days like this when the flashbacks came back to life and bothered her. Like something she chewed on every time but never managed to swallow; because it was just too large and too painful. It would tear her up and leave a bloody mess inside.

The cars passed by on the street, some faster some slower, and suddenly she became aware that Cynthia was outside knocking.

"Come in!", she called.

Cynthia opened the door and walked in with a slight smile, as always.

"Good Morning, Director!"

"Good Morning, Cynthia!"

"You have an appointment with the gentleman from the law enforcement agency at 11 am. He wants to discuss the further action-taking in the case of John Debale. For lunch, Mr. Martineau."

She shot a quicl glance at the files Cynthia handed her and then decided to get a coffee first. When she pressed the button for a black coffee, and watched her face structure in the mirror of the machine, she realized that she had changed a lot. When she was younger she always wished to be older, and have all the wisdom gained from the years. But lately she'd started to see that it couldn't keep her from making the same mistakes all over again. Nothing kept her from falling flat on her face again. The high heels and the formal skirt didn't change the person she was inside.

Before she'd become Director, she and Gibbs sometimes met in cafes and watched people. Sharing their thoughts about cases or the news. She loved the way he had made her laugh. But all of a sudden she'd stopped calling back when he called, and when she picked up the phone, she'd tell him that she missed his calls accidentally. She would feel his curiousness about what was going on in her life, his fear for her and his anger when he realized she had stepped far away and continued to walk even further.

They'd stopped talking years before. She missed him terribly, but there was a huge stone inside her throat. She couldn't talk about anything anymore. The easiest things seemed to be too hard. She often closed her eyes in the middle of the day, due to too much stress. A so-called_stimulus satiation_, a psychologist she'd spoken to had diagnosed. She'd nodded and didn't think about it anymore. She'd started to sleep more when the summer came. But the feeling in her stomach never quite faded. She often felt sick, close to throwing-up. She imagined the world as a white place and thought about passing away on a dark September day when the rain slowly traveled down her window. She remembered she'd cried that day. She'd stopped speaking about unimportant things. What she said or wrote was poignant and short. The words didn't flow out of her. Instead she had to force herself over each single word.

Around that time Gibbs had called and asked if it was her name that was stuck on the director's office door

She answered that it was hers and asked if they wanted to meet anytime. He'd declined with cold words and all her faith in the great change that would come with the new job faded with his good wishes for the new position. His voice kept ringing in her ears even after she'd put down the phone and went to bed. She'd thought about the many ways she'd lied to him because of the night she'd decided to go home by a small by-street.

Mr. Martineau was a Canadian who was always talking "aboot his hoose up the hills, eh?" Speaking with him tired her. She was sick of his complexity; always trying to be hyper-correct in matters that no one really cared about. So she she started to cut the lettuce in her salad small and even smaller, and succeeded in appearing interested in the topics.

Jenny thought about Morrow, and what he'd told her when she started to job. And she thought about her father.

The day got darker by minute. It was almost frightening. She felt like the person from the Oedipus-riddle. She started straight-walking and ended up almost crawling and leaning on everything that could give her a little more strength, because she had nothing left. She felt so terrible. All her emotions, all her strength, nothing was left. No anger, no fear, no resentment. This was a feeling she could hold onto for hours; a feeling she wouldn't give in to. She knew she could just take her gun and end it, but she did not have the power to anymore.

She turned on her desk light. There was still a bottle of bourbon in her desk. There always was. Sometimes it was her shelter. Even if she always felt so pathetic drinking alone in her office. Yes, there were many people she could have invited, but there others she wanted to invite but never did.

Being around people had become harder with the time. She's decided to quit the streets and stay in the warm offices the day after.

Thinking about going back to the streets now filled her with fear, even if she was better prepared this time and had her gun fully loaded and wasn't numbed by too much alcohol. She never walked to her car in the garage alone. She always felt the fear walking up to her and pulling her, almost tearing her the beginning she was the first to come and the last to leave, because only then, she knew no one would be after her. In the darkness the shadows were much longer and the doors always locked. She wanted to flee from her fears, but wherever she went, the fear traveled in her purse. In the night, no one saw her when she cried. As she left the garage no one watched her car dissolve into the streets among many others. As she'd soon she learned, in D.C. no one ever looked up.

She had been in eastern Europe, but Washington was far the coldest city she had even been to.

* * *

This wasn't working. She tossed the file angrily across the room, close to tears.

"Oh my god." she whispered in the silence. "I can't take this. This night is too long."

It was her portrayal of her feelings. She could not go home anytime, because at home the rooms were not big enough and she was ready to implode. There was not much more. She wanted to go down to the entrance hall and just sit there for hours and be the only one in Washington to watch pedestrians in the middle of the night. She could wonder why they were walking there, where they came from, what they were walking to. Maybe thinking about future goals.

Suddenly the door opened. She jumped up, because she thought everyone had left the building.

Gibbs stood on the threshold holding a bag with Chinese food.

"I remember you loved this," he said.

"Make yourself home."

Gibbs watched her while she looked in her desk for forks and knives. She seemed like a sleepwalker to him. She wasn't fully there, seemingly caught in her thoughts. She knocked over a bottle that fell on the floor and broke into shards. When she knelt down to pick up the pieces he saw she was shaking.

"Are you ok?", he asked.

She didn't answer. Gibbs watched as she tried to wipe up the water. Her red hair made her look even more stubborn today. She looked tired and overworked. He had always liked the fact that she knew where she wanted to go next, but this evening, in the small light of the desk lamp, she seemed weary and tired of her life. Years ago,it had sometimes seemed as though he could look right down to her core when she let him. But now she was closed up, and her her walls were built so high that he couldn't overcome them on his own.

They had both become old. Both had become wiser and stronger. But now it was his younger self that asked the dear friend she had been to him whether she was okay. The morning had made him extremely worried about her.

"I'm not," she finally admitted.

And he could see all her walls tumble down at once.

It had been too much for her. She had felt his worry. She wouldn't give up, but she couldn't lie to him anymore. The lie's doll-face had worn out. Suddenly she wished for a little comfort, for someone to take her gun and put it a safe place.

She was strong, yes. Just not at the moment.

He stretched out his hand and touched her shoulder. "Tell me."  
She shook her head and said nothing more. She was numb. She didn't care for the hand on her shoulder anymore, usually it was almost impossible for her to get touched by anyone. This time she couldn't talk anymore, the words in her head overflowed her like the rivers did in the summer sometimes. She couldn't get hold of a single thought and put it into words.  
She felt terribly weird. She hated losing control.  
Gibbs realized that something wasn't going in the right direction, but he decided to not say anything at all, until she made the first step.  
He moved a little towards her because he wanted to hold her, while she cried, to show his concern and his feelings about her.  
But she disappeared under his touch; she leaned a little backwards, trying to keep a certain safety distance.  
His sudden advance had pulled her out of her numbness. She started shaking, as it started to get colder in her office by minute.  
He fetched her a blanket, which she started to wrap around her.  
It was dark in the office, and it was quiet, since most of the people had already left the building.  
When she stopped crying, he quietly handed her the food and she started eating it. While staring in her rice, she suddenly thought about telling him, what if she just started talking and wouldn't stop until she had used all the words she had to describe the incident that still made her shake and wake up in the middle of the night, all sweaty and afraid.  
When she got home that night, she couldn't call anybody and talk about and she decided for herself, she would never talk about it. She didn't want anyone to see how her strength had been under-wandered, her borders had been violently crossed by some stranger.  
Back then, she had known that it was the wrong decision, but she kept telling herself, she would make it on her own. She had thought of it, as a thing that would pass fast. And in the very beginning she could fall asleep easily and she would have no hard time banning it from her thoughts for days. Gibbs called her back then, but she felt so disconnected to everything in this world, she wouldn't answer the phone at first. All out of the sudden, everything came back haunting and hunting her.  
The first days, she called in sick, because she didn't know, if she could make it through the day. She felt too vulnerable inside to stand the looks.  
She started to cry and put veils over all her mirrors, because she couldn't stand to look in her face. It got darker every minute, and she wanted to call a friend to come over. She just couldn't. She felt so much like scream and started to frantically run up and down in the flat, and checked every minute, if the door and every window was looked, and no one hid underneath her couch.  
The psychological pain became insane, and soon people at the NCIS noticed her change, and made her see a psychologist, to whom she stopped going to, because he reminded her too much about what happened.  
Sometimes she would still smell him and all the showers she took, and the different kinds of soap she bought during the years, could barely change it.  
"What are you thinking about?", he asked into the silence.  
"Past.", Jen answered  
"Remember that French cafe we went to?"  
She nodded and remembered the small cafe in a side alley, where usually couples went to. They listened to French music. That day, he had brought a sunflower for her.  
"It was the last time we met. You never told me, why you never called again."  
"I couldn't."  
He looked in her eyes. She wasn't afraid or shocked, just cold. She seemed like a stranger to him.  
"Why?"  
Despite of the banality of the situation; Chinese take-away, dark desk-lamp light, and a water bottle without glasses, she told him, that she had been raped, the night, when she had been to drunk to drive home from a bar, where she had met friends.

He sat there shocked. Then he reached out to hug her. Jen almost stated crying again, because suddenly everything crept up in her, and beyond her skin, her mind was racing, her abdomen hurt painfully. No space was left in this hurtful realization and acknowledgement, to let her thoughts wander off into places where she could let go of all the weight that pressed her down.

The things in her mind, all the things beyond her skin, went blank, white. She felt like a giant spotlight. The light perforated her skin, and it shone through all parts of her body and made its way up in her mind. She needed air so badly, she barely breathed.

She wondered if drinking from Lethe had made all the others crossing the river she wasn't ready to cross yet, feeling like this. Make this was her river to cross before she died.

The light erased everything, all memories, all knowledge and left only that night and all whiteness, which would never tell about that horrifying event.

Streetlights that didn't lit this part of the street enough, she could still see that lamp, far away from her, and remember how she tried to only concentrate on this particular part of the world. As if this light could give her any comfort, could hold her and delete all the things, which still made her gag, when she was alone.

When she was younger, she had imagined dying like walking up the rainbow, seeing all these colours, being embraced by the colours. Now everything she hoped for was an eternal white-ness.

"Jen!" Some voice called her back. She opened her eyes to the sharp, dark truth. Gibbs watched her in worry. "You had a panic attack, I think."

She prayed, that she didn't say anything.

"You really got me worried."

Gibbs seemed so helpless, as if his expertise couldn't stand her sight. She shrugged and closed her eyes. She felt so worn out, going away wasn't the problem, coming back was. She liked the thing she called "white noise", it helped her to cope with the reality.

"If you want to report it, I'll be at your side.", he said, more to fill the sudden silence. He noticed that something happened, and he was losing her again, but he didn't want to.

She shook her head, "Look, Jethro, it's not that easy!"

He watched her closely, not quite knowing what to say.

She remembered the time right after it; she felt so open, so terribly torn apart, and hurting everywhere. "I finally got to hide in a small hole in the ground, metaphorically spoken of course, it keeps snowing on me, but I don't feel so much anymore. You understand? I found shelter."

"One day you're going to freeze to death.", he responded. Gibbs didn't agree with her thought. He remembered, the time they were in that café in winter. It felt so good, drinking coffee, enjoying the conversation with her. He had almost felt like everywhere she went, she embraced the world with her warmth, and he felt honoured, she took her time to be with him. Yes, back then he had been deeply in love with her, awaiting her phone calls, cherishing her voice on the answer box.

He was so crazy about her, back then, it wasn't only the colour of her hair, it was her whole attitude.

Now he knew there was nothing crazy about this love, with each of his wives he had been in love the same.

"But I won't be dying from pain."

She started crying again. The quiet moments forced her to think about it again, again, and again. It was an endless circle in her mind. She couldn't voice the pain, which was inside of her right now, mere screaming would've done it, maybe.

"You want to say what's on your mind?"

"Can't", she answered, barely breathing.

"How did you make it?", he asked, "I mean, pushing the pain away, and becoming this successful?"

He hoped this wasn't rude, and she would take it the right way. He knew giving-up wasn't her style.

But thinking about it now, it would've been logically for her to take off some time. And it was awkward that she didn't, or at least didn't say she did.

"You should know me better than this, Gibbs, I needed time to sort myself out, it kept me awake all night sometimes. I started asking myself, whether all of this was right."

"It's ok to feel hurt, you should've known that."

"I did. But you know, I asked myself, where do these pains come from? I remember a little of the philosophy class I took in college. Descartes. He said that humans aren't simple, they have a double identity, they think, have a soul, and they need space.

I wondered whether it was possible to ask a soul to leave because it hurt too much."

Of course you can't, Gibbs thought, but he realized how bad her soul must've hurt, when she considered killing her inner spirit in order to ease pain.

"I know, you know, I can't do a thing like that. But in some way I had to take that weigh from me, so I could actually breathe again. I wondered, you know, how the soul maybe is the thing that needs space. When you kill that part of yourself, nothing except for the outer shell is still visible. And maybe that's what everything is all about."

"Killing yourself?"

"No.", she shook her head, "having both, but not admitting it to anyone."

He ate a couple spoonfuls of rice, before he even dared to add his words to the conversation.

"I wouldn't say you're wrong, I always loved your opinions on some parts of life, because they were new, but I'd say you're facing the typical problem of philosophy!"

"I do?"

"Yes you do!, it's all nice and thoughtful, but you can't use it in your life."

Suddenly she had to laugh; it was so much like the times, when they were young. So incredibly comparably. She, sharing her thoughts, which were way off into space, and him down to earth, criticizing her thoughts with valid arguments.

She could almost see their coffee mugs in front of them, a small plate with cookies in the middle, them sitting in the old-fashioned café.

"We've been always honest in terms of our relationship, right?", she asked a little reluctant.

He waited for a few seconds, in his mind he was trying to get an unopened box of cigarettes out of his fictional survival-bag.

While he struggled to find an answer to her question, he slowly ripped apart the cellophane paper and opened the box.

"You know, what I'm trying to say is that honesty is probably the most important thing ever, today's world is addicted to "thinking about you right now" or "wish you were here"." with her fingers she imitated the quotation marks.

"I think no one of us has ever left the places we lived when we were young, and sometimes, when I wake up, angst-ridden, sweaty in the middle of the night, I remember the smell of the ocean after a heavy thunderstorm. Like Croatia."

He stopped looking in the bag for a lighter, and turned his attention to her. "You've been to Croatia?", he asked surprised, "I thought you were in Germany for some time and in Beograd, and wait…", he paused and thought for a second, "Russia, right? You had a case in the Rossiskaya Federaciya, in the middle of nowhere, Omsk, right?"

"I wouldn't exactly define it as the middle of nowhere, but yes, Omsk."

He struggled slightly to put everything in a timeline, the rape, her frequent trips to Europe, but he was also unsure about asking her to explain at which time_ it_ had happened.

When she had spoken about it, it sounded like it had been many years ago, even though it was still vivid in her mind, she had never come to the point to acknowledge honestly that she needed help.

"Jen, I still-, I'm sorry, but when did _it_ happen?"

"Oh, well, when we were starting our jobs. After university. When I stopped answering my telephone."

He took another sip of the water bottle.

"I'm still the same. I've been to the point where it didn't matter anymore. I've overcome it. I thought so, at least." She thought for a second and then the first tears watered her eyes and then slowly made their away across her face.

"I loved so much. I thought I had lost myself, when I left."

He bent over to hug her, but she refused to join in. "I know my file says I've been to Germany for half a year, but the truth is, I never set a foot on German grounds."

He stared at her in amazement, and then realized what she said. "Never?"

"Yes, never."

"Tu veux expliquer?", he asked, not noticing he was using the wrong language.

"Oui."

"There was a guy that was in love with me. He worked in the same office, and he noticed my inner struggle, when he heard that I planned to take some time off, he offered me to fake my time there and instead give me the chance to go some other place. I chose Texas."


	2. Chapter 2

_very short at this time, but everything is planned, I just need to write it down. I don't like storys with too many chapters, because its really annoying to read, so I'll just keep posting in this chapter until the next (and probably final) part is to come! this means, if you want to be up to date, just check sometimes if there is new content (is that the right word?) up:)_

_**Disclaimer:** as always. the most people don't belong to me. you'll recognize the fictional one hopefully!_

A considerably younger Jen packed her things in her flat. She had taken out the garbage a few minutes before the story began, had thrown away a few plants, taken all her things to the attic. She had decided to rent her flat to a few university students to make sure, she could keep it, and didn't have to look for another apartment to live in, after she came back from the country.

A cellphone rang. She answered it without looking for the caller.

"Julian! Look, I'm just closing my bags, after that, I'm outta here. Do you want to have the spare key? … Yes, I'm leaving it in the flower pot…. Do you have the tickets?... Yes, meet me in the airport bar… Thanks. Bye!"

She took her bags, carried them out one by one, looked back for the last time and then closed the door without regrets. for a moment she was tempted to look back if everything was just fine, but then she decided that this period of her life had come to an end, and she wouldn't care about correctness anymore.

She knew that what she was doing was illegal, even though she had forgotten the exact term, it was something she could lose her career and her job for. To say it straight, she was aiming for jail, if they found out what she was doing.

She trusted Julian. He had promised her a trip in the middle of nowhere, going to the plain would be best for her, to sort out her mind in a beautiful landscape.

When he asked what she was dreaming off, Texas was on the tip of her tongue, but it sounded too over-the-top, so she just said "somewhere 'round Nebraska, Wisconsin."

"Well if you want to be bored all the time, thats the place to be.", he said slowly. "What do you think about Texas? I actually know people there, a friend of mine is running a ranch there, you could go there and help out with the tourists."

She wasn't very enthusiastic about it, at first, but when she saw a few pictures, she decided that she'd be worse off in Germany, because the Texans atleast spoke English.


End file.
